Chapter 5: Panic and Paranoia

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The whole town was in a panic. It was the summer of 2000. No social media, so news traveled by word of mouth. Still, within two weeks, everyone knew.

The police were under the gun, so they reached out to the community for tips. It worked—fast. The tip line rang off the hook, and the sheriff’s office mailbox overflowed with scribbled notes.

With all the new information, police pieced the case together. Eventually, they named the killer—a thirty-two-year-old local man, Sam Easton, now on the run.

Word spread faster than wildfire at a Fourth of July barbecue.

But gossip is a double-edged sword.

Everyone had an opinion, and soon the story had a thousand versions. Some people called in tips, hoping for justice. Others lied to try and get the reward money. Parents worried the killer would strike again. Busybody neighbors gossiped at the diner, making up wild theories.

It was like a game of telephone—everyone adding their own spin. The town buzzed with anxiety, the kind that seeps into Sunday sermons and schoolyard whispers.

Within days, everyone was on edge.

Wanted posters for Sam Easton went up everywhere. Parents kept their kids home. Shopkeepers closed early. Even the police canceled vacations to keep the peace.

Even I got pulled in. Because I knew the victim, police questioned me.

I remember the interrogation room: the overhead light buzzed, flickering just enough to set my nerves on edge. My palms were slick on the metal table as I showed my receipts and itinerary from a seminar out of town.

That panic didn’t fade until late summer—over two weeks of fear and suspicion.